


a secret (or a promise)

by Barrhorn



Series: Meme Reposts [7]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Fade to Black, Flirting, Getting Together, Masturbation, fareeha is smooth, more innocent than that tag suggests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 10:44:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7614943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barrhorn/pseuds/Barrhorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Precious little cinnamon roll that Mercy is, she's been so focused on her job/research that she's never really had time for a relationship. Moreover, she's never really been interested in one. Until Pharah walks into the room for the first time and she is absolutely gobsmacked! Far from being a confidant, accomplished professional, Mercy turns into a flummoxed mess and totally puts her foot in her mouth."</p>
            </blockquote>





	a secret (or a promise)

As a “prodigy” I got thrown into teams entirely comprised of people ten to thirty years my senior. Men and women who had sweated through years of schooling to learn what I understood intuitively. They could have resented me for it, but if they did they never let it show. I like to think that our shared passion - and shared sleepless nights in the lab - proved myself to them more than any words ever could’ve. If I hadn’t worked as long as they had, then at least I damn well worked as hard as they did.

In return, they gave me the title of chief surgeon. I treasured it most as a mark of their earned respect. It certainly helped smooth the way when meeting someone new who hadn’t expected someone so young in my position.

…This is all a very long winded way of explaining that even if I had the time or energy for dating, I never seemed to be around someone eligible. I would never have been so vastly unprofessional as to date one of the med students we had as research assistants. And by the time my age caught up to the new doctors we were bringing on, my reputation had already spread. I was Chief Surgeon Angela Ziegler, the legend, the hero. Not someone you just casually asked out for drinks.

Not that I ever really wanted them to.

Joining Overwatch didn’t help the situation at all. Jumping around the globe at all hours of day or night, the battles themselves, the constant wounds that needed treating - I considered myself lucky if I got five hours of sleep. I know some of the other members had liaisons, but I honestly can’t imagine how they managed it.

…When Overwatch fell apart, I blamed myself. I threw myself into my work, tried to be as discreet and under the radar as one can while wearing wings, and worked myself to the bone. I had just let the people I cared about the most down in the most devastating way possible - how could I bear to let anyone get close after that?

And now Overwatch is back, if underground, and Ana Amari’s daughter is all but licking her lips as she looks at me and _mein Gott_ I just want to let go for once.

I’d remembered Fareeha as a young girl growing into a teenager. I hadn’t seen her since she joined the military, despite promising myself I would keep in touch, especially after Ana’s death. It left me totally unprepared for the woman who steps off the transport with a bag slung casually over her shoulder. I admit, I am staring, trying to reconcile my memories with the reality. The cute girl has become beautiful, as striking as her mother; the lanky teen has turned into a strong soldier.

I’m not prepared for the warmth that fills her eyes when she spots me, or how it generates an answering heat in my face as she strides over, devouring the ground between us in long, confident steps. Her gaze dips to my cheeks, and as she takes in my blush she smiles. I do recognize that, and the hint of mischief in it that always preceded trouble.  
“Angela.” There’s really no reason for her to murmur my name like that, like a woman with a secret.  
“Fareeha, so nice to see you again,” I say, a little too quickly, laugh a little too brightly. Without thinking, I hold my arms out for her like we’re teenagers again. “Where’s my hug?”  
She drops the bag to the side and embraces me without hesitation, and I realize the enormity of my mistake. Instantly all I can focus on is how strong and reassuring her arms are around my waist, how good she smells, how familiar this seems. Her hair falls forward as she ducks her head closer and a bead brushes my cheek, and the unexpected feeling makes me laugh.  
“You know, Doctor Ziegler,” she says after a moment in that too-smooth tone, her breath warm against my ear. “I should report to Winston some time today.”  
I bolt backwards, away from her arms. “Yes, yes, of course! I’ll see you later. At dinner?” I realize how that sounds as it comes out of my mouth and before she can react I hurry forward. “O-or the intake exam! I don’t think Winston’s scheduled it yet but you can come anytime.” I know that I’m babbling, and even knowing that’s the cause of Fareeha’s growing smile, the smile is distracting enough that I cannot make myself stop. “There’s nothing else I have to do today, so-“  
“When you want me, just tell me.” Her voice alone could send my thoughts stuttering to a halt; the words just add to my haze. My eyes flick to her lips before meeting hers again. Her smile is bright, but her eyes are much darker, and I just know she’s doing this on purpose.

“Fareeha!” I have never been so happy to hear Jesse’s voice yelling across a room. At the sound of her name, Fareeha’s head snaps up and towards him, giving me a moment of relief from the intensity of her attention.  
“Just come to the exam room when you’re free,” I tell her, backpedaling toward the door.  
She flashes a smile at me. “I will,” she promises, and when she starts toward Jesse I make my escape.

I manage not to run down the hallway to my office, but I’m just as glad that no one is there to see me or ask me where the fire is. It’s not until the door is safely closed behind me that I finally sag, burying my face in my hands as if it could erase the embarrassment of the past ten minutes. I’d never reacted like that to _anyone_. And the way Fareeha had responded instantly had only swept me up in the moment more.

Well, she’s incredibly attractive. Those soft eyes and her cheekbones, her regal bearing and that wicked smile, those _muscles_ -

With a groan, I force my train of thought away from that dangerous list. Point is, Fareeha is gorgeous. She’s probably used to getting that sort of reaction, and she probably just thought she’d have a little fun teasing an old friend. That’s okay. It was good to see her so relaxed, to see the energy and playfulness she’d had as a kid still hiding underneath the soldier. And when she comes for her exam I’ll better know what to expect. I won’t be so surprised and I won’t be thrown off balance. I’ll be able to deal with her in a manner becoming of my age and professionalism instead of a teenager with a serious case of puppy love.

I’ve just about convinced myself when I remember that she’s going to have to take her shirt off for the exam. I throw myself into the cot in the corner of the room - a concession to my habit of sleeping in the office no matter what, and always more comfortable than the desk chair - and put a pillow over my head. Maybe I’ll wake up and this will all have been a dream.

I don’t actually intend to fall asleep, but my body takes advantage of my being in bed for once, and before I know it my limbs are heavy, my eyes pulled shut, and I surrender myself to exhaustion.

_Fareeha’s long legs press between mine, pushing them farther apart, the feeling of her bare skin against mine driving me crazy. She laughs breathily when I reach for her, easily pushing my hands down against the mattress. “Look, but don’t touch,” she teases, unmoved by my protests._

In the back of my mind, I know that this is a dream. I’m partially aware of the narrow cot I’m in, of the blanket twisted around my legs, the pressure of the mattress against my shoulders as I lift my hips, begging Fareeha (she’s not there, she’s not, but I feel her anyway) to give me what I want.

_She chuckles, running a hand over my stomach to settle me. “Patience,” she chides, and her hand slides up my body to cup a breast, her callused thumb rolling a nipple._

My hand squeezes my breast, pinching the nipple roughly and causing me to shudder in the sheets. “Please,” I murmur, maybe out loud, maybe not, not caring in the least as my right hand slips between my thighs.

 _Her fingers move surely against me, her dark eyes watching my every move. When I cry out she leans forward, kissing my jaw, my neck, my collarbone. “That’s it, häsli,” she says_ (that’s not right, she wouldn’t say that, but her rich voice makes anything okay). _“Let me hear you.”_

Two of my fingers circle my clit, every little brush sending a jolt through my stomach, making it hard to keep that image of her above me, driving out every thought in the waves of pleasure shivering through my limbs.

And then comes the knock on the door, loud and insistent, which snuffs out my arousal more effectively than a bucket of cold water.

I turn my head, pressing my face into the pillow to silence my frustrated moan. Really, my visitor could not have had worse timing. After hauling myself out of bed, I quickly smooth down my rumpled clothes, running a hand over my hair to make sure it’s at least somewhat presentable. If it was an emergency, there would be more knocking and a lot more yelling, but I couldn’t ignore the possibility that one of my friends was standing on the other side of the door with “just a scratch” that required twenty stitches. That does nothing to ease my annoyance at the interruption, and I open the door with a little more force than necessary.

And there stands the person of my fantasy. I freeze, feeling my heart go into double time and my face flush. Fareeha’s as gorgeous as she was this morning, even with her mouth set in a small frown as she looks me over. I finally tear my eyes away from her lips and look into her eyes, which are filled with such concern that I want to cup her cheek in my hand and tell her that everything will be okay.  
“Are you all right?” she asks, and her voice makes me blush even more; I can feel it all the way to my ears. “You weren’t in the exam room, so…”  
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I fell asleep.” If there is any goodness in this world, she will take my obvious discomfort as embarrassment over missing our appointment, as loosely scheduled as it was.  
She looks past me, to the disheveled bed, then leans against the doorway. “Don’t apologize. If you fell asleep I’m sure you needed it.” Her eyes meet mine as I start to relax, nodding agreement with her. “I’m glad you’re taking care of yourself.”

There it is again, that slightly too-smooth tone, the one that makes me flash back to the feeling of my fingers between my legs, and my breath hitches. All at once her eyes light up, and I’m helpless to resist as she reaches over, grabbing my right hand in her left. She lifts it up towards her, gently stroking my palm with her thumb, her eyes never leaving mine even as she presses a soft kiss to the pad of my little finger.  
“Angela,” she murmurs, her lips tickling my skin.  
“Yes?” I manage, only a slight stumble on the word.  
Her lips move to my ring finger. “I think you should know-“  
I actually whimper as I watch her bring the next finger to her lips and the smirking sidelong glance she gives me before she presses a kiss there as well. Could she have known? _Gott,_ could she taste me? The thought makes my arousal come soaring back, a wave of heat that leaves me to grab onto her for support. She kisses my finger again and I look up at her, my eyes no longer completely focused.  
“-That I’ve wanted this for years,” she says, before bringing my index finger to rest against her lips. But she doesn’t kiss it. No, she waits until she’s sure I’m watching (as if I could do anything else in this moment) and then she parts her lips, just enough to slip my finger into her mouth.  
I groan at the sudden, wet heat that surrounds my finger, at the way her tongue drags against my skin as if gathering every taste for herself.

She releases my finger and presses a kiss to my palm, and I’m relieved to see that she’s at least a little out of breath. She recovers faster than I can, however, and presses forward, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me into her. “Can I come in?” she says, and I’m laughing breathlessly and grabbing at her as she picks me up and kicks the door closed behind her before I can even respond.

“Yes,” I tell her as she carries me to the bed. “Yes,” as she puts me in the sheets and follows after me, straddling my waist. “Yes,” as her hands slide under my shirt and she leans down to kiss me and I can’t say anything anymore.


End file.
